Dreaming With A Broken Heart
by WhisperWeeper
Summary: A RusCan thingie I wrote based off of the song by John Mayer...NOT A SONG FIC! -.-' but it's kinda depressing...PLEASE REVIEW!


Stifling a groan, Canada pulled himself out of the darkness of sleep. He had to struggle to open his eyes, nearly sewn shut from tears of the night before. His whole body ached when he rolled off his side and onto his back. He was sore from his toes to the tip of his curl from the fit he'd thrown the night before.

_Ah, yes_, he thought sluggishly, still blinking his tired eyes. _I wonder if France and England are mad at me._

Thoughts of the previous day floated into his consciousness, stinging him with raw intensity. The two countries and his brother, America, had come over to try to comfort him. They'd caught him huddled in the corner of his bedroom, crying-not exactly how he wanted to be seen by his family-and he went off on them. Screaming, bawling, throwing things at them. He couldn't remember if he hit one of them or not . . . Canada shrugged, not really caring at that moment.

Sadly, he's been like this for the past couple months. Ever since a certain package arrived for him in the mail. That one thing had changed his life drastically, literally tearing him to shreds. He had scratch marks all over himself from where he had raked himself with his nails purposely just to relieve the pain. He'd done a lot of that actually; his skin looking like it was attacked by 1,000 angry felines. He was pretty sure a lot of them were going to be permanent.

Depressed and disheveled looking, Canada forced himself to sit up. His hair was a mass of yellow tangles-his curl completely out of whack-and he had massive bags under his reddened eyes. Also, he was probably the palest and skinniest he's ever been his entire life from lack of eating. _He probably wouldn't want to see me like this_, he thought woefully. Thoughts of his beloved-one who's name hurt to even think-reminded him of the small package.

He glanced down at himself. The only thing he had on was the one piece of clothing he had from his beloved: a worn, white scarf that had arrived to him in that package. He shakily moved his hands up the soft fabric, loving the feeling of the weathered cotton against his calloused fingertips. Tightening the fabric around his throat and face, Canada allowed himself a small smile. _I still smells like him . . ._

The smile evaporated almost instantly, unable to grace his features for more than a second or two. His worried eyes quickly searched around him in the darkness, looking for that one special thing. The special thing that had come with his beloved's scarf. He finally spotted it on his bedside table and grabbed it quickly, as if it would disappear at any moment if he didn't hold it. _Like he did_, the Canadian thought reluctantly, feeling tears beginning to burn in his already irritated blue eyes. He brought his bare knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly, letting his sheets slip down off his legs and onto the floor.

And so there he sat. Alone on his bed in dreary silence, the lights completely off. Opening the letter that had also been sent to him, he began to read it for the hundredth time-even though he knew he shouldn't because it would just hurt him again. He fought a losing battle against the tears threatening to spill from his eyes as they ghosted over the beautifully scrawled words.

_Dear, Matvey,  
>I am very sorry but I cannot see you anymore.<br>Things have progressed over here at my home and  
>I'm afraid that I won't last much longer. It pains<br>me that I was not able to see you one last time  
>before this happened.<br>Please forgive me, my little sunflower.  
>I love you,<br>Ivan_

His heart felt like it was crumbling into a million pieces, his chest clenching painfully as if it was the first time he was reading his letter.

_He's really gone_, the blonde thought in defeat, his tender heart sinking down into an empty abyss. He tried to choke back his tears and failed, finally letting them roll down his scarred cheeks mockingly and onto the piece of parchment clutched in his hands. He fell back on the bed, back into himself, and collapsed into a heavy sob.

_He's never coming back._

**XXX**

**Based off of the song: Dreaming With A Broken Heart by John Mayer~**

**Please REVIEW! :3**


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